


Bellatrix

by smallbrownfrog



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bloodplay, Community: daily_deviant, Community: kinky_kristmas, Dubious Consent, Knifeplay, Not Romance, endorphins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 15:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallbrownfrog/pseuds/smallbrownfrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus had no plans to let Bellatrix touch him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bellatrix

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoozetteR](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoozetteR/gifts).



> This story takes place during moments Harry and JKR happened to be looking the other way. It is mostly set in the summers of 1978, 1996, and 1997.
> 
> Many thanks to L for multple SpaG checks, and to marianna_merlo who gave in depth feedback on an earlier version. Thank you also to the several people who gave it a look through to see if they understood a key part. This was a gift for roozetter as part of the Kinky Kristmas fest hosted by Daily Deviant.

The first time Bellatrix ever touched Severus was on a warm summer evening in 1978. The Malfoy gardens were in full bloom, and the smell of honeysuckle and roses hung heavy on the air. Green and silver paper lanterns were bobbing magically overhead, occasionally swooping down to illuminate a laughing face or a gesturing hand. 

Other recent graduates clustered here and there on the walks, but Severus stood by himself in the shadow of a trellised arch. He stared glumly at the smiling revelers, trying to decide what to do. He had worn a glamour, to hide the clear stripe of darker black where he had let the hem of his robes out; but no one had told him that the manor wards would wash away his carefully woven glamour like mud in the rain. It probably didn’t matter what he wore, though. He had too many knees and elbows and he didn’t know how to be elegant.

Still, he couldn’t back out. This party was too important to his future. This was where young Slytherins unlucky enough to have to work met Slytherins with the sad misfortune of too much money. Of course, Severus knew perfectly well that he wouldn’t have been invited if there had been some polite way to invite only the desirable part of the class -- that part of the class being everybody but himself. Off in the distance he could hear the hearty roar of old Abraxas Malfoy welcoming new arrivals and the fainter chatter of the answering guests.

Severus reached deep inside himself for his pride and reminded himself that he was a Slytherin and that his mother was a Prince. Her line went back centuries. Mixed blood or no, his lineage was the match of anyone in his year. Straightening up with a jerk, Severus spun on his heel, ready to march right up to the old man and demand his place in Slytherin society.

Instead he collided with something in the dark. There was a muffled thump and several high-pitched squeals. Then Severus was blinking into a faceful of wandlight, trying to make out what had happened.

There was the soft sound of crying and somebody was saying, “There, there, Columba. It’s just a scrape.”

Severus squinted into the light, trying to make out the shape of the girl he had knocked down, and wondering what in Merlin’s name he could say to redeem himself.

“It’s that mudbl--”

“Bella!!”

Then the slap hit him dead on, so that he sprawled back, seeing stars.

When he finally managed to right himself, Abraxas himself was there, looking red-faced and anxious and apologizing madly for the handprint on Severus’ face. Clearly the old man thought the incident reflected badly on his reputation as a host. Severus had to fight not to smile as Abraxas steered him towards the manor and the promise of a cold drink. Severus would be able to use this. He had a future now.

~~~ . ~~~ . ~~~ 

The second time Bellatrix touched Severus was almost two decades later. If the years had been cruel to both of them, Azkaban had been even crueler to her. She still had a great beauty, but it was the over-ripe look of something that was beginning to rot.

He wondered if she saw the same decay when she looked at his face. But then he’d never had any beauty to lose. Albus once told him that he’d grown to have presence and character instead. Of course everybody knew that Albus was a sentimental old fool. Certainly it was true that Bellatrix often looked at Severus. There was no denying that. He would glance up from meetings with the Dark Lord to find her eyes targeting his face. Even that day when she and Narcissa came calling at Spinner’s End -- such a lovely little visit that had been -- her eyes had swept over his bookish little parlor with that same dark stare.

Severus had no desire to find out what was behind that stare. He had enough madness in his life. Life, as usual, was not interested in his wishes. Instead it now conspired to throw the two of them together as often as possible. Where the Dark Lord was, that was where Bella wanted to stay; and where the Dark Lord was, that was where Severus needed to go, whether he wanted to or not.

First his arm would start a dull, steady ache. Then he’d feel a pull, as though the whole world was shifting to a new center of gravity. Suddenly the ground wasn’t under his feet, but was somewhere out there instead; and he’d let himself fall towards it, landing in any of an endless series of meeting places: formal gardens, the ruins of a mostly vanished castle, an empty moonlit field, a historic graveyard, a hilltop overlooking the sea.

Sometimes Severus thought the Dark Lord picked the locations more for visual drama than for any need for secrecy. So when his master called late one night, he expected another theatrical setting. He was surprised to crash into, first a dark stack of something hard, and then onto the harder concrete floor.

Oh Merlin, thought Severus. The Dark Lord must be angry to let him land so clumsily. Where was his wand? He could barely see in the low light. But before he could take the thought any farther, he felt something cold against his neck and heard Bellatrix’s low laugh.

“Feel that? Mmm? Do you like knives?”

Severus held still. He couldn’t help imagining the sharp silver blade. Then something clamped down hard on his wrists and held them in place. He tried to move one wrist a tiny bit, not enough for Bellatrix to notice, just enough to test the bonds. There was no give at all.

The cold pressure of the knife moved away from his neck to one of his hands. He didn't want to look. He didn’t think he would be able to hold still if he looked. He needed his hands. So much of his magic was in his hands. He needed to hold still. He would keep still. He wouldn’t look. Still, he could see it so clearly in his mind. The knife pressing into his hand. The red blood. The flash of light flaring off the silver blade.

Severus tried to calm himself by reminding himself that he had a silver knife in his potions lab. It was nothing. It was just a piece of metal. An ordinary tool. The evil glint of the blade he saw in his fears was nothing real. In dark stories or the mind's eye knives had a sharp gleam, a nasty twinkle. But real knives were just pieces of metal, until you felt them pressed against you, denting the skin. Then you started imagining the edge, the sharp, sharp edge.

But wait, if the blade was denting his skin, she couldn't be using the sharp part. She was just playing with him. Oh, god. Oh, Merlin. What was it his father used to say? Bloody buggering bumfuck. Yes, that was it. He was bloody buggering bumfucked all right.

Then there was a sharp sting to his hand and his control cracked.  Severus flailed, pulling and twisting in the restraints.

"That's it. Fight me, you filthy son of a mudblood.”

The lights went up as Bellatrix bent to cut again. Of course, thought Severus. Of course there would be an audience. There was the sound of coats and capes being taken off, chairs being moved. Severus had the surreal feeling that he was an actor in a muggle play.

“Continue,” said the Dark Lord’s quiet voice.

When he felt his clothes vanish in a cold draft, Severus felt laughter bubbling deep inside but bit it back. This was no time for hysteria. The Dark Lord was watching. He couldn't let fear show on his face. He needed to hold himself together. He thought about the weather and the headlines he had seen on a muggle newspaper. He recited the steps of a complicated potion. Face blank. Face blank.

Pain flared up on his calf and he worked not to gasp, letting out a little hiss in spite of himself.

“I’ll have to sterilize the knife after this, but it’s such a pretty red,” said Bellatrix in a breathy little whisper. “Would you like a taste?”

Severus tried to return to reciting his potion recipe, while Bellatrix slid the flat of the knife over his lips. He thought he could smell a faint copper tang, but he wasn’t sure if it was blood or the power of suggestion.

He was ashamed to feel the swell of his cock as her knife lowered back to his skin. By the third cut he was starting to feel warm and fuzzy. Everything had a faint, misty glow and rainbow sparkles were forming around the overhead lights. By the tenth cut Severus thought he was falling in love.

If he had had any words left, he would have told her that he loved her, but words were so complicated and everything was so far away. So he just gazed at her as she wiped her knife on his hair.

“A fine performance,” said the Dark Lord. "Severus, how stoic parts of you are. You amuse me. Thank you, Bella. This has been most entertaining."

“I am honored, my Lord.”

Then the room was emptying and Lucius was helping him to his feet. He made it out without leaning on Lucius more than he had to, but once he was out of the room he was hanging onto Lucius for dear life, more than standing upright.

Lucius just chuckled and apparated them both to his manor. Then Lucius half carried, half dragged him to an oversized sofa and let him land mostly on it. Even Lucius knew better than to levitate Severus when there was any chance he would remember it later.

Severus was surprised to find himself shaking with cold.

Lucius looked at him more closely and said, "Your eyes are dilated. Salazar’s tits! Why do you get yourself into these situations, Severus?" Looking mildly annoyed, Lucius traced one of Severus' veins with his wand. "Well, at least it looks like my sweetest sister-in-law didn't put anything poisonous on her knife today. There’s nothing in your blood that your body didn’t put there itself. Hmmm. There’s no hexes or curses either.” Lucius was silent a minute, then said, “You're welcome to one of the spare bedrooms."

His hostly duties done, Lucius left Severus to drift off on the sofa, only vaguely aware of the blanket which one of the house elves tucked around him. Severus didn't remember the rest of the night clearly; except that someone woke him to press an unpleasant-tasting brew into his face and insisted that he drink it before he fell back asleep.

~~~ . ~~~ . ~~~

When Severus woke up, he was still drowsy, but the sun was up and the birds were singing as though they lived in a land without knives. He felt obscenely decadent, looking up into crystal chandeliers fit for a king and feeling the silk upholstery under his naked skin. For a moment he fantasized that this was his house and he had become royalty, but he wasn’t the sort to indulge such daydreams. So he rose yawning to face the day.

He looked over his body, carefully checking for damage. To his bewilderment all he found were some shallow cuts and a few scrapes. Clearly the potion had done a surprising amount of healing in a few hours. He’d have to find out the the recipe, so he could get a supply for Hogwarts.

When he asked a passing house-elf, the creature didn’t seem to know what he was talking about. It just gaped at him and said, “If Sir is wishing for more salted garlic broth, Tibsy will fetch it.”

“Broth?” thought Severus. He had only been given broth? He didn’t understand. There had been no healing potion, and yet he had no real injuries. He wasn't sure what Bellatrix had done to him, why he had stumbled and shaken like a sick man; but he knew it wasn't good. He was sure of only one thing: he would stay well clear of Bellatrix from now on. 

At breakfast Lucius seemed mildly surprised to see him, but merely gestured him to a seat. Narcissa nodded at him over her morning tea and said, "Tibsy! Another setting!"

The tea at the breakfast table tasted better than he remembered tea ever tasting before. It was as though his mouth and his tongue and his hands were celebrating being alive. All his senses were more vivid, more joyous than they should be.

“I'm surprised you had the courage to stay for breakfast after the exhibition you made of yourself last night." Lucius smiled at Narcissa and said, "Little Severus seems to have found himself a girl he wants. I think he quite fancies Bella."

Severus didn't answer. He knew baiting when he heard it.

Narcissa looked at Severus for a long time before saying, "Do you think that's wise?"

Of course it wasn’t wise. What kind of a fool did she take him for?

“I think your esteemed husband is having a bit of a joke.”

Narcissa looked puzzled, but the rest of breakfast passed with only casual small talk about gardening, the weather, and Narcissa’s favorite new charity.

~~~ . ~~~ . ~~~

Severus wasn't sure how Bellatrix had gotten past defenses that he didn't even know he had. Yet over the months, he gradually found himself dreaming of her voice and the way she moved. He didn't like Bellatrix and he didn't fancy Bellatrix, but he wanted to breathe the air around her, wanted to feel the tension like static electricity that stung him awake and told him to run far, far away.

The best thing of all was that she didn't remind him of Lily, no bright-eyed curiosity, no flaming red hair, no belief that life should be fair or kind. Instead of Lily's open curiosity and questing intelligence she had the heavy-lidded drowsiness of a sleeping cat, and like a cat she liked to play with her food. Any tenderness was the soft furry velvet of a cat's paws. Any kindness was a cover over claws.

Nothing about it was wise. Nothing about it was sensible. Nothing about it was sane. But Severus wanted. Oh, how he wanted.

Of course Severus knew better. So much depended on him. Albus depended on him. Albus trusted him. Severus couldn’t afford stupid mistakes.

All of his actions were balanced as carefully as a galleon set on it’s edge. Severus had forgotten what it felt like to just talk to someone, to not watch every word, to not fear casual conversation. Not that he'd ever been good at it, mind. But at least once it hadn't been lethal if he slipped up.

Albus just told him he needed to relax, as though it was as easy as popping a lemon drop. Relax. He'd like to see Albus' face if his precious double agent ever did relax. He wouldn't live to see the next day, but it would be _wonderful_ to actually allow his thoughts and his speech to line up instead of threading every conversation through an infinite maze of deception.

Of course, he was sure Albus didn't really want him to relax anyway. It was just something he said sometimes to soothe his conscience. Still, it was good to talk to Albus. With Albus he only sometimes had to watch what he said.

Yet he craved more. He craved a way out of the hell he lived in.

So when he remembered the feel of Bellatrix's knife and the cut of her words, it wasn't just the rise of his cock he longed for. That he could get any time with any wank. What he missed, what he wanted so badly he ached, was the feeling of being open and relaxed, as though the world loved him and wished him well.

He knew it was only chemicals, only the brain's reaction to pain, to danger. He knew he shouldn't want it. He knew he shouldn't wank to the memory, but _oh_ he wanted it. Wanted it so that he found himself remembering her hair and the way it flowed like smoke, found himself listening for her voice as though it was a song he intended to learn.

On more nights than he could count, Severus found himself moving his hand up and down his cock as he fought with the images in his head. It was a silent battle, fought with arching back and clenched teeth. The world would shrink to the size of his body, as his leg muscles strained, his breathing lost its smooth rhythm, and his mouth opened on an unsaid word.

Sticky and spent, Severus told himself that things done in the silence of the night had no meaning. He was a master spy. He knew how to compartmentalize. He knew better than to let fantasies bleed into his real life.

Yet thoughts of her continued to seep into the rest of his life. It was a gradual slide. Until one day he picked up his potions knife and carefully nicked his hand. It stung, and the sting woke him like a splash of cold water in the face of a dreamer. There was no pleasure in this. Severus stared at the pale white split in his skin, just starting to fill with thick, red blood.

What was he doing? This was beyond madness. It was seeking calm in the eye of the hurricane. He could not afford entanglements. He could certainly not afford to open up under the knife of a woman who despised him. No, who didn't consider him important enough to despise. He amused her. And he was sure his death would amuse her more, when he finally slipped up, when he said the wrong thing or wore the wrong expression, or when he just happened to exist on a day the Dark Lord felt he shouldn't.

He would stay well away from her.

~~~ . ~~~ . ~~~

The third time Bellatrix touched him, Severus was walking in the newly shabby gardens of Malfoy Manor. The roses had been kicked and battered. The peacocks were wand shy and skittish. Even the ancient scrying pool had seen better days. The water that had once been clearer than glass was gone as green and scummy as old copper.

At the moment he heard her step, he was pondering whether it would be worth it to dredge the scrying pool and purify it with the proper mix of saltwater and unicorn tears. He thought divination was a bloody waste of time, but the Dark Lord had asked him to examine the pond. Personally, he thought it would be just as useful to get Trelawny drunk, well, drunker than usual, and declare her babblings a new prophecy.

Knowing it was Bellatrix, he still stood there, just feeling her magic crackle around him like a growing storm, but making no move for his wand.

His nerves were alive and his skin was singing, as she dug her own wand into his neck. He could feel the rush of blood to his groin, the growing pressure in his cock as Bellatrix laughed a low, throaty chuckle. 

“What have we here?”

Any answer he could give was lost in the steady pounding of a second heart as his pulse moved into his groin. It was madness. It was beyond madness, but all he could do was smile.


End file.
